[CLOSED] Stand beside her, and guide her, through the night with a light from above

[heymrpresident.livejournal.com]

[They're standing on what was left of the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, the sun rising beside them. Somewhere nearby, America's hooked up her new iPod to a small speaker system, and it's playing the march of "The Star-Spangled Banner" as background music for the "ceremony" America's called Dib for. She's dressed in a new dress, cleaned up and her face glowing with the life that hadn't been there when she first met Dib. She's said her preamble and such, and she holds up the handmade medal.]

And for service to your country, I, the United States of America herself, present to you, Dib, the Super Honorary Medal of Appreciation and Gratitude.

[She's smiling like the little doofus she very much used to be 100% of the time when she gets on her tiptoes to put the "medal" around Dib's neck. It's a circle of computer paper, poorly cut, with "Appreciation!" written on it in sharpie and attached to a long, black string of yarn. It's possibly the most childish-looking thing produced by her hands, but she's well aware of it's worth to the both of them. There's also a faded lipstick mark on the back of it, a light pink that she never wants to wear again.]

[America turns her smile back up at Dib, and though her hair is frayed at the ends and her eyes are dragging harsh bags beneath them, her smile is ever as bright, beaming, and ear-moving as it's ever been. Her hands are pressed over the paper medal against his chest.]

So, thank you so much, Dib, for helping me out even when I didn't know it. For sticking up for what I used to be, and what I hope to become yet again. For not giving up. For being everything I've been too stupid to remember. For your heroism not only to your classmates and fellow Americans, but to the entire human race. And, in the words of one of my old bosses:

[She moves her hands away from him, takes a step back, and snaps her arms to her sides.]

For consistently becoming, in the finest American tradition, something more tomorrow than you are today.

[America salutes him, proud tears brimming her her blue, blue eyes.]

Thank you, Dib.

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[usedrivalry.livejournal.com]

[America is beautiful. The ragged edges don't even register- she stands out against the ruins of her lost history as an entity worthy of devotion, of protection, of loyalty. The word for the fierce affection he's feeling is gone from a world where nobody thinks or cares, but he feels it regardless.]

[He squeezes his eyes shut and makes no effort to fight the tears when she gives him his medal. It doesn't matter that he's been making complex electronics since he was 6, receiving this is a far more rewarding accomplishment. He is a soldier of his country even if he doesn't wear dog tags, and the recognition brings up more delirious pride and joy than he'd thought possible. Right now, it doesn't matter that he is friendless, that he is disregarded, that he has to fight for everything-- he is an American, and there is strength in that. He belongs to her.]

[This is all he's ever wanted. He is recognized by the spirit of those he fights for, even if not by the individuals. He feels like he can count on that smile to get him through anything.]

[His eyes sting, but the smile that he gives her as he returns the salute comes utterly naturally.]

I-It's an honor.

[He wants to say so much more, to pour his heart out about how much this means, but he can't find the voice for it. It's only sheer will that's keeping the crying from overwhelming him-- he refuses to break down in the middle of this. It takes him a moment to remember the words he'd so carefully memorized weeks ago, but they come.]

Oh beautiful for heroes proved in liberating strife, who more than self their country loved, and mercy more than life.

[He gets through it, but it's the straw that breaks the camel's back. He tilts his head down and shuts his eyes, crying too hard to see even with them open.]